The cyclist
by BelstaffJumper
Summary: It's the usual, Sherlock's feelings being kickstarted by jealousy. The only field in which he's at a disadvantage: sentiment. He's puzzled, John seems to be showing interest in a young man. Johnlock, rated M just to be safe.
1. The cyclist

Yay! As a gift to a special occasion, my beta (who is a fantastic editor, but unfortunately, not into Johnlock) read my edited version of this story. So, here's another story for you, hope you like it. Has not been Brit-picked.

Ah yes, disclaimer: I don't own them, otherwise the show would be Johnlock all the way. :)

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><p><strong>1. The cyclist<strong>

Sherlock noticed John's eyes. This didn't even warrant him rolling his own, he had seen this too many times before. John had noticed something, or rather _someone_, that had drawn an admiring up and down gaze from him.

Sherlock wrinkled his nose, _m__ost likely looking at her legs_. He raised his eyes to the mirror behind the counter to evaluate the woman. But there was no woman. He looked at John again to get his bearings, then towards the cafe's door. John was looking at a young man's calves.

He surreptitiously looked back towards the mirror. This young man was in his late twenties, a cyclist obviously, given the helmet hanging from his arm, his bike shoes and shorts. Thin, shorter than Sherlock himself, but taller than John by three inches, short dark brown hair, greenish eyes, bright smile. _Single (hand), well educated (overall bearing), cycles to work to keep in shape (cyclist bag with laptop, pannier in bike outside has a tie protruding out of it), left handed (holding his wallet to pay), plays guitar in a band on weekends (callused fingertips), works in an office - financial sector (stock market charts protruding from external bag pocket), and why is John looking at him? _The cyclist's legs were very muscular on the thighs, and the calves were well sculpted. They were also shaved and tanned.

'Hey, Jamie!'

Before Sherlock understood what was happening, the young man turned his head, then broke into a smile and approached their table.

'Hey, Dr. Watson! How are you?'

_Not as young. Up close, mid-thirties. Dresses young._

'Fine, I was going to ask you the same, but I can see you're feeling better. Already biking?'

Jamie tilted his head playfully, 'Yeah, well, it's been three weeks, after all', he shrugged innocently with a smile. Then he looked at Sherlock, eyeing him curiously.

_Oh. Not straight._

'This is my flatmate, Sherlock. Sherlock, this is Jamie, one of my patients.'

'Hello. I'm one of his "regulars",' he said self-deprecatingly, but Sherlock didn't react.

'You wouldn't be, if only you followed your doctor's orders.'

He raised one hand, being suddenly solemn, 'Dr. Watson, I promise, I am feeling better.'

John regarded him sideways. 'All right, I'll let you off this once,' he retorted with a mockingly stern face.

Jamie brightened, 'Do you come here often? I didn't think you were in this neighbourhood. Or are you following me to curb my biking enthusiasm?'

'No I'm not,' he chuckled.

'Not in this neighborhood or not following me?'

'Both! We were just passing by and we needed to eat, that's all.'

'Well, you stopped at a good place. I love their food here, and the coffee is pretty fantastic too. I'm here all the time because my flat is just four blocks away. Next time you should try their sweet potato and coconut soup. It may sound strange, but it's absolutely to die for!'

John was amused at his enthusiasm, 'I'll try to remember that.'

'Hey, you said you were curious about my band. We'll be playing at the Two Barrels this coming Saturday at nine thirty.'

'Oh really? I may try to go, if there are no cases...' he trailed off looking at Sherlock.

'That'll be great. Well, I'd better get my coffee and go, otherwise I won't have enough time to shower and change once I get to the office. Good to see you outside surgery, Dr. Watson,' he touched John's shoulder briefly, leaning forward and dropping his voice, 'and not need to be patched up this time. Good to meet you,' he nodded at Sherlock. 'Maybe I'll see you on Saturday then,' he winked and smiled as he walked away.

John waved and a smiled in return, giving another once over as Jamie turned his back to them.

'A "regular"? Too many cycling accidents?' He didn't like the touching and the winking. Jamie clearly fancied John.

'Sherlock, you know I can't discuss patients' cases outside work. Nice kid, though. If there are no cases I might try to go see him play.'

'Not a kid, he's in his mid-thirties!'

'Actually, you're right, I keep forgetting. He's forty years old, can you believe it? I keep thinking of him as a kid because he doesn't look forty.'

'He just dresses younger, that's all.'

'Mm, no, it's not just that. If you look closely, he barely has wrinkles.'

'Hmph, only an overindulgence in anti-aging products.'

John rolled his eyes, _only Sherlock would argue about this!_ 'Whatever it is, Sherlock, he still looks younger than us. Are you done? We'd better get going, Lestrade is waiting.'

'Am _I_ done? _You_ were the one who wanted to stop and eat...'

John sighed as he opened the door, only half listening to the usual string of complaints.

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><p>ANote: One of my cousins did look like he was 25 when he was 40. And 32 when he was 51. A youthful attitude towards life, up to date fashion, anti-aging creams and a healthy lifestyle. So it is possible.


	2. John's interest

A/Note: There'll be 10 chapters on this one. I might not be able to post the whole thing all at once though, real life sometimes gets in the way... :) But it's all good. Enjoy and please review.

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><p><strong>2. John's interest<strong>

Sherlock observed from a distance, hidden from view. John's behaviour at the cafe had left him unsettled for some reason, so he had decided to follow and watch him. John was now seating at the bar, buying Jamie a drink. Grudgingly, Sherlock had to admit, Jamie was a better musician than he had expected. The band was a five piece jazz ensemble, with many foreign influences, given the different nationalities of their members. John had clearly enjoyed it. He was introduced to the other musicians afterwards and they were all chatting animatedly. Jamie had worn a black suit with a white shirt for the concert, and with his hair wet with sweat, it formed ringlets on the top of his head, where it was longer.

John helped the musicians carry the seemingly enormous load of musical equipment into the drummer's van. One by one the others left the pub, and now only the two of them remained. He helped Jamie with his equipment too, but there wasn't as much to carry. Jamie had leaned against his car, while both men continued their conversation, occasionally touching each other's arm when making a point. After an interminable half hour, to his surprise, John got in the car. Panicking, Sherlock thought quickly about their route and ran, keeping an eye out for a taxi.

...

He found a spot on a fire escape ladder across the street, at an angle from which he could see part of Jamie's sitting room. He had handed John a beer and they sat down to talk. After some time of this, Jamie left the room, while John waited.

_(What is happening? Where did he go?)_

John was sipping his beer as Jamie stepped back into the room, wearing only a towel around his waist, a plastic carrier bag in hand. His hair was wet, he had just showered. He spoke and gestured, so John got up and closed the curtains. Then the blurry shape of Jamie went to the sofa, apparently lying down. John's shape walked away. For a while nothing seemed to happen, then he finally returned, also heading for the sofa.

...

John had washed his hands thoroughly and, removing a pair of cleaning gloves from its wrapper, put them on and washed his hands again. They were much thicker than what he would've liked, but they would do.

Jamie was lying on his stomach on the sofa, while John sat on the edge and examined his back. He peeled enough of the towel from the hip and thigh on the right hand side so he could also examine them. There were multiple bandages that formed a trail from shoulder blade to thigh. He gently removed them. The skin had been shredded raw, bleeding a little, accompanied by red and purple bruises. The points of greater impact (shoulder blade and hip) were worse than the rest.

_(What are they doing?)_

'Well, there doesn't seem to be anything more serious than what's on the surface. It'll take some time to heal though, that was a very nasty road rash you've got. A miracle you didn't break anything this time. Still, I'd like you to come in on Monday, it doesn't hurt to have it x-rayed for small fractures. I can't believe you went ahead with the concert, having crashed just this morning!'

John reached for the antibiotic gel and started dabbing generous amounts on the wounds.

'Well, I didn't want to leave the guys hanging. It hurts, but I can still play. Once I'm on stage I usually forget about the outside world and I loose myself in the music. It's almost like a drug to me, I can even forget about the pain for a bit.'

'That's amazing to me. My flatmate is a bit like you. He plays the violin and sometimes, when he's using the music to think, it's almost like he's gone into a trance,' he smiled to himself, thinking of Sherlock.

_(They closed the curtains!)_

Jamie hissed as he pressed on one of the bruises.

'Sorry. I had considered getting myself a bike for exercise, but looking at your injuries just about talked me out of it.'

'Sorry Doc- John, for spoiling it for you,' he chuckled. 'Having a bike, this sort of thing just happens. I can't even count how many times I went arse over tit over the years.'

'Because you take too many risks riding around traffic. I hope you will take a break from biking until this heals.'

'Oh, I sure will. It hurts a lot, this is by far the worst I've had. Are you sure you don't mind doing this?'

'Of course not. I'm your doctor, I'm here, might as well.'

'I shudder to think of how much this home consultation will cost me!'

John chuckled at the exaggerated shudder, 'Hey, lucky for you, I can't just walk away from injured people, especially when I know it must be hard for you to reach around your back.'

'You're right on that one, trying to hold the patch and tape it to my shoulder blade is pretty difficult. I'm very flexible,' he looked over his shoulder, playfully, 'but I'm not a double-jointed contortionist.'

_(He was wearing only a towel.)_

John had now reached Jamie's hip. The bruise indicated he had landed heavily on it. He hissed at the light pressure of the fingers.

'Sorry, mate.'

Jamie grumbled at the pain. After a pause he decided to ask. 'So... your flatmate. How long have you been together?'

John frowned at the implication. 'We've been sharing a flat for the past two years if that's what you meant. And no, we are not a couple.'

'I'm sorry, I didn't mean-,' he stumbled, embarrassed.

'That's fine. I'm used to having to explain it. Everybody thinks that, I don't know why.'

_(On the sofa!)_

'Well...'

'Well what?'

'Never mind.'

'No, tell me. What were you going to say? I'm curious, why does everybody think we're a couple?'

'It was the way he looked at me.'

_(They've been - at it - for a while now.)_

John was just reaching for the box of non-stick pads and the tape when he paused, intrigued. 'What do you mean? How so?'

'It's just a gut feeling. I could be completely wrong...'

John sighed, 'Yes, but?'

'But he looked as if he didn't like that I was talking to you. As if he were jealous and possessive of you.'

(Sherlock wriggled his hair with both hands.)

That surprised John. He thought about it for a few seconds. 'I guess it might come out that way. Sherlock has his own way of dealing with the world in general. Relationships are baffling to him at best, it's a miracle we became best friends. He has told me in the past, he doesn't have friends. There's only one: me.'

'Wow. That would explain the jealousy and the possessiveness.'

(Sherlock was getting progressively more anxious. _I can't see anything!_ So he resorted to his usual trick.)

'Yes, I guess you're right. He calls himself a high functioning sociopath, but I've lived with him long enough to know better. He does care; he just doesn't know how to navigate social interactions. In everything else, he's amazing, really.'

John's phone pinged. 'Speaking of whom... that's probably him.' He removed a glove and hurriedly fumbled for his phone. With Sherlock you never knew when it would be something worrisome.

'Checking on what's keeping you?'

**Bored. When are you coming home? SH**

He couldn't help smiling, 'Exactly. Let me just send him a quick reply.'

He spoke as he typed, **I'll be home soon. Almost done here. JW**

He was about to stuff the phone back into his pocket when the reply buzzed.

**Done with what? SH**

'Argh, I'll reply after I finish bandaging you, otherwise we'll be here forever,' he sat the phone next to him on the coffee table.

'So... if you two are not together, are you seeing anyone?'

'No, it's been a while. Being around Sherlock is an all time consuming job. I mean, he's a bit careless regarding his own safety and health, so I pretty much have to watch over him, constantly. Plus, he does tend to get in the way of my relationships.'

His phone pinged again. Jamie said, deadpan, 'Somehow - I can sense that.'

John had just finished the last patch. 'There. You're all set.' Jamie shifted and sat up, thanking him while pulling the towel to cover himself.

John peeked at his phone as he removed his gloves.

**He's too clingy. SH**

Slowly (_too slowly_, Sherlock's voice echoed in his head) he understood where this conversation had been leading to.

'I like you John. I'm very attracted to you.'

'Jamie...'

Jamie smiled and leaned forward, reaching for his arm. John instinctively jerked away, slipping off the seat and landing not too gracefully on the floor.

'Jamie, I'm very flattered, but I'm not gay.'

'Oh God, I'm sorry.'

'It's fine, really,' he got up. 'It's all fine.'

'I'm sorry, I totally misread the signals.' He held on to his towel, feeling too exposed all the sudden.

**Too high maintenance and needy. SH**

'That's fine. Wait. What signals?'

'Your interest, you coming to see me play tonight. People always say they want to see me play, but they rarely actually come. You bought me a drink at the bar, we talked long after everybody was gone, you kept touching my arm as you spoke. The way you looked at me, attentive, focused, roaming around my face. You suggested coming here to look at my injuries, to patch me up... I thought it was a bit forward of you, but I wasn't going to pass up this opportunity, you know?'

'God, Jamie! I'm the one who should be sorry! I had no idea...'

**Plus, you're not gay, remember? SH**

John pinched the bridge of his nose. 'Jamie, I'm mortified, I feel like a right one. I'm sorry, I was way too oblivious, I didn't mean to lead you on. I'm an idiot.'

'I... It's all right John. Let's just forget about this.'

'I should go.'

Jamie nodded. John put on his jacket and grabbed his phone.

'You know...' Jamie added, uncertain. 'Your flatmate, the jealousy in his eyes, it's more than friendship.'

John froze, his hand in mid-air as he was about to tuck his phone into his breast pocket.

'And you looked at him as if seeking his permission to come see me play. That's why I thought you were a couple.'

John's mouth was agape, not knowing what to say to this. His phone pinged again. 'Jamie, I'm really sorry. If you feel uncomfortable and want to change doctors after this I'll understand.'

'I like my doctor. If he's not uncomfortable with me, I don't need to change.'

'I'm not.'

They said their goodbyes, and John looked at his phone once out of the flat.

**He uses more products than most women. If he worries that much about his appearance, just wait until he starts nagging you about yours and the relationship. SH**

John came out of the building just as Sherlock was about to hit send on his latest volley. He shrunk in the shadows, but he needn't have worried about it. John was so engrossed in his thoughts he wouldn't have seen an elephant standing on his path. Sherlock felt a chill down his spine.

...

John felt like a complete idiot. How did he miss all that? His "display of interest" for Jamie? No wonder everybody thought he was gay, if he went about doing things like that all the time. That alone was mortifying, but what was pressing on his mind right now were Jamie's comments about Sherlock.


	3. Sherlock jealous?

**3. Sherlock jealous?**

'How was your _date_?'

John walked into the sitting room and was taken by surprise by the words as well as the disdain underlying them. He just stood at the threshold with his mouth agape, staring at Sherlock's back, who stood by the window, trashing the violin, a gown thrown over his dress shirt and trousers.

'So much for all your "not gay" protests.'

The tone in Sherlock's voice shook John into reacting. 'Sherlock! It was _not_ a date. I only went to see a mate play in a pub.'

Sherlock finally turned around and scanned him from head to toe (sending a shiver down John's spine): his hair was only a bit disheveled, his clothes not too rumpled, his face red (_Anger? Embarrassment?_). His clothes did not suggest undressing/redressing, there'd be more creasing if that had been the case. _Light snogging only?_ Yet, the words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them. 'Oh please John! I saw you looking at his legs at the cafe. You had this look on your face that appears every time you see someone you like. You not only went to see his concert tonight, but you accompanied him to his place. He took off his clothes for you and you _touched_ him,' Sherlock pointed the bow at him accusingly.

John's stunned face was more than enough confirmation to that last remark and that sent Sherlock's stomach plummeting.

_How could Sherlock possibly have read all that had happened tonight with one look?_ He felt mortified once more that he had sent all the wrong signals. After what seemed like ages he was finally able to find his voice and reply. 'Sherlock! Nothing happened. This was _not_ a date. Jamie is my patient. And for the umpteenth time, I'm not gay.' Still red faced, he turned and went to his room.

_Denial!_ Sherlock huffed. _What is so special about this_ Jamie _anyway?_

_'He looks younger than both of us'_, John had said.  
>He was a good musician.<br>Electric guitar and jazz are much sexier (to the general population) than violin and classical music.  
>As a cyclist, he did have nice legs, tanned and shaved...<br>John had that look on his face, looking him up and down at the cafe.  
>He was a regular patient. So John was used to seeing his body and touching him.<br>He was attractive. He did have a nice smile.  
>And was clearly interested in John.<br>And John, interested enough to overlook gender and orientation. Enough to touch.

He physically braced himself for what was to come. And it hurt. He went back to his violin.

...

John only refrained from slamming his door out of respect for Mrs. Hudson. After all, it was not her fault that his flatmate was such a... He let out a deep breath. It wasn't so much that he was angry; if anything, he was aggravated with himself. If only he had stuck to his general principle of not developing personal relationships with patients this whole embarrassing fiasco with Jamie would've been avoided. His mistake had been to assume Jamie was safe because he was a man.

He changed and lay down, thinking of all that Jamie had said. He did feel flattered at the interest. He always did when men showed interest in him. That sometimes puzzled others, so he usually kept that thought to himself. He never felt like he was attractive, so whenever gay men made passes at him, it boosted his ego. Men were always more vocal than women when they were interested. _They must see something they like, after all. _But he had never felt attracted to men in return.

_'Your flatmate, the jealousy in his eyes... it's more than friendship. And you looked at him as if seeking his permission to come see me play. That's why I thought you were a couple.'_

_God, did I?_

Sherlock's reaction just now did seem like a bout of jealousy, but that wasn't much different than his usual reaction to him going out on dates. To him, dates were all a useless distraction, a waste of time. All that mattered to him was The Work.

He thought about what Sherlock had said too, _'I saw you looking at his legs at the cafe. You had this look on your face that appears every time you see someone you like.'_ One of his buddies had pointed that out too, a long time ago. _'__I can always tell something good just walked in by the look on your face, mate.'_ He was looking at Jamie's calves, but surely only because he was envious of how good they looked. That's why he had considered getting himself a bicycle, to get calves like his. _His shaved legs did look nice, silky and smooth._

Sherlock, on the other hand... With Sherlock, it went beyond physical. It was hard to put it into words. Sherlock was the most important person in his life right now. He was so unique and unlike anybody else, that any normal rules didn't really apply or work with him. So it was only natural (it seemed) to have this _fascination_ with him.

This was dangerous territory. He had been avoiding delving deeper into the matter of Sherlock and their relationship for some time now. _Fascination... Attraction?_ Did he really want to find out?

...

On the following day it was clear both hadn't slept (Sherlock's violin had kept all three inhabitants in the 221 building awake, not to mention a few of their neighbours too) and both were grumpy, tired and sulky. John kept out of the flat most of the day running errands. On Monday his surgery routine took over. Soon there were a few cases, and things fell back to normal in the weeks that followed. Sherlock was relieved that John had not gone out with Jamie again, and began to suspect that maybe it had been only a one night snog. Or, maybe, it was really just as he claimed, a platonic relationship after all. John was thankful that Sherlock had not mentioned Jamie ever since that embarrassing evening.

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><p>ANote: I do know a straight man who feels very flattered at gay men's attention for that exact reason.


	4. John's odd behaviour

A/Note: These next two chapters are very short, so tonight I'm uploading both. Enjoy. And thanks to all of you who have already favorited, started following the story and left a review. Reviews are love.

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><p><strong>4. John's odd behaviour<strong>

'Sherlock, please! We've been running since yesterday morning! I'm about to keel over. Can we please stop here and grab something to eat?'

Sherlock glanced up at the cafe next to where they were standing. 'Not here.'

'Why not? Where then?'

Before Sherlock could come up with an excuse, there was the noise of a bike behind them. 'Hey, John!'

They turned and John felt a small jolt in his stomach. 'Oh, hi, Jamie.' Jamie nodded and said hello to Sherlock, smiling.

_That's why_, thought Sherlock, keeping a neutral face, not bothering to reply. Inevitably, they did walk into the cafe. John promised he'd order a sandwich as a takeaway, but kept chatting with Jamie as they waited in line.

'So... how's your back?'

'Much better, thanks. How've you been? You look tired.'

'Mm? Yes, I probably look like Hell, we've been on this last case since yesterday morning...'

John bought coffee for Jamie and Sherlock. Sherlock didn't really want it, but as he was buying one for _Jamie_ he felt compelled to accept one too. He still refused to eat, which exasperated John, he could tell. John ended up ordering the sandwich Jamie recommended. Sherlock was relieved when they all walked outside, so they could get rid of him. But then John surprised him.

'Sherlock, could you wait here for just a little bit? I'll just walk with Jamie to the corner over there.'

Jamie was surprised too, but said goodbye to Sherlock, then turned and continued with what he was saying. '... so we'll be playing this Saturday again at...'

They kept on walking away at a slow pace, so he couldn't read their lips. He had noticed John was a bit taken aback and embarrassed by seeing him, so why then this need to talk in private? That left him uneasy.

...

'So... how've you been?' Jamie asked once they had reached the corner.

'Good. Good.' He cleared his throat. 'Listen, I still feel bad for that- last time.'

'Hey, it wasn't my first mistake of that sort and it won't be the last. It goes with the territory, you know?'

John gave a small smile, 'I guess I don't.'

Jamie chuckled, 'You're right, you wouldn't.' He was a bit puzzled by their present conversation, so he waited.

'Jamie, listen, I was wondering if we could talk again sometime? Maybe once this case is over, could I give you a ring?'

He frowned, _that was unexpected_. 'Em, sure. Is everything okay?'

'Yes, yes.'

They exchanged numbers, that much was clear to Sherlock. They said their goodbyes and Jamie hopped on his bike, disappearing around the corner. John turned, his eyes on the pavement, his mind working loudly. He didn't like that.

'John? Do you want to go back inside and sit while you eat?'

'Hm? I thought you were in a hurry.'

'Well, true. But you'll most certainly get sauce on your shirt if you try to walk and eat simultaneously. You can't expect to intimidate suspects with a stained shirt, looking like a gormless clot in need of a bib.'

John snorted. 'You know, sometimes I'm just not sure you're being considerate or insulting, but I appreciate the offer nonetheless. How about we walk towards that park over there and sit on a bench?'

'Fine.' He'd have to keep an eye on John's mobile from now on.

...

John was a bit confused for the next few days, Sherlock was being, well, nice; there was no other word for it. He seemed to be making more of an effort in noticing when John was about to pass out due to tiredness or hunger, despite the ongoing case. And allowing him to rest, eat, sleep, or whatever he needed. He even allowed himself some food, which left John pleased. Whatever it was, he was grateful for it, it made it a bit easier to function properly.

Once the case was over, he did meet Jamie a couple of times. He'd usually tell Sherlock he was running errands (which he were), one of them being stopping by his flat to chat. He just wanted to avoid more accusations that there was anything more between them. He enjoyed his company, that's all. Talking to him was always pleasant, he was funny and witty, always very perceptive. There was just something about Jamie that made him comfortable, he couldn't exactly pinpoint what that was.

Having an outsider's opinion was invaluable to John. It wasn't until Jamie had pointed it out that he realised, Sherlock's actions a lot of times did resemble a fit of jealousy. This left him feeling rather pleased, actually. Happy. To have Sherlock's attention was even more flattering than had this been someone else. But what then? What to do with this information now? There was still a chance that his jealousy was within the realm of a sociopath's possessive friendship, nothing more. After all, this was Sherlock. Plus, what did he want? To pursue a relationship? With a man?

Sherlock knew, of course. He could tell by John's ears going red and by how he avoided eye contact that he wasn't "just running errands" on such occasions. So every time he had followed and watched as they talked in Jamie's living room. But nothing more ever happened. His phone showed they had been in touch, trading calls. No texts.


	5. A disturbing case

**5. A disturbing case**

'Where's John?' Sherlock had been looking forward to hearing John's compliments. Even by his own standards his performance had been stellar this time, so he couldn't wait to hear it from him.

Lestrade was cautioning and handcuffing the suspect, then threw over his shoulder, 'He's helping Donovan to arrest the bodyguards downstairs.'

Sherlock frowned. 'Why?' _That's menial job. And he's not even with the police. They have enough manpower downstairs to do such things._

'I don't know, he just offered to help.' Lestrade kept what he had seen to himself.

They had been watching Sherlock talking to the suspect from the building across the street. Sherlock had been in top form, using his acting skills to lure the criminal into a trap. He allowed himself to be groped, then subdued and tied. Lestrade and his team had enough material recorded, so they stormed in and made the arrest. The DI was the only one who saw the look on John's face and he alone understood why John had wanted to stay away. He had looked murderous. So when he asked if he could help with anything "downstairs", Lestrade suggested he go with Donovan's group to apprehend the bodyguards. They exchanged a quick look of understanding and he read the gratitude in John's eyes. With a nod, Lestrade and the rest of the team rushed into the flat. He tried his best to delay Sherlock for as long as possible, asking him about the incriminating evidence around the flat, to allow John to regain control of himself.

By the time both of them made it downstairs Lestrade was relieved to see John more under control.

'John, where were you? You missed seeing all the evidence in his flat. Lestrade would've missed them if it weren't for me.'

'Sherlock, I'm right here,' Lestrade huffed annoyed.

'Ah, well Sherlock. It seemed like you had it all under control, so I thought I'd help Donovan.'

'Well, I suppose she does need help- Sally! How are you?'

'Would've been better if you weren't here, freak. I still don't see why you had to be the bait.'

'Too many sleepless nights away from one's own home does tend to cloud one's judgement, I see. Must I remind you I just handed you a murderer?'

'As if you could keep your mouth shut. You know, it's disturbing to see how convincing you can be when acting. Makes one wonder where the acting actually ends.'

'Ah, you're welcome. You can go now and man the cordoned-off area.'

She inhaled to reply, but Lestrade cut in, 'Enough, Sherlock! Please, let's go to the Yard and get this interrogation started, shall we?'

'Ah, dull.'

He finally looked at John and was surprised at the sight. John had an utterly defeated look in his face. 'Em, Lestrade? I think you have it all under control; you shouldn't need us for that. We'll stop by tomorrow perhaps?' And, without waiting for a response, he took John's elbow and pulled him away. _He's exhausted, this case has dragged on for too long._

He ordered takeaway to be delivered to their flat from the cab, which caused the most reaction from John - a raised eyebrow. 'What? You need a shower, food, then sleep. The food will arrive as you get out of the shower.'

John was surprised and grateful. He was also thankful only Lestrade had noticed and understood what he needed at that moment. He was so jealous and furious that he would've murdered the killer himself had he gone upstairs right then. For the moment, he was too exhausted to dwell into such deep emotions and feelings. Sherlock was right, he needed to take care of his physical self first.

'Thanks,' he croaked, leaning his head back.

...

On the following day John left the flat and just went around doing the errands that had been neglected during the case: going to the dry-cleaner's, the cash point, getting groceries, and so on. But more than anything, he just allowed himself to think honestly about what he had experienced. Of course he had felt jealous of some of his past girlfriends before. But most of the times it only indicated that he wasn't too confident of what they felt for him. Well, there was that element with Sherlock too. But yesterday had been different.

It was an emotion unlike anything else he had ever experienced. Seeing the suspect touching Sherlock had made his blood boil. Sure, he was a murderer, but it wasn't just that. Sherlock's acting had been very convincing too, so to see him physically showing interest in someone else was disturbing. It had been so intense that it had terrified him, despite the anger. He knew he would have done something irreparable had he gone upstairs with Lestrade. He was finally forced to confront what he felt for Sherlock. Thus the defeated feeling. There was no running away from it anymore. He loved Sherlock.

On the next day he went to Jamie's flat again while Sherlock observed from his usual spot.


	6. A date

A/Note: Thank you to all of you who have been reading this story. I was worried you'd give up, since all the preceding chapters were a set-up for what's to come. I thought it would seem boring, so I was happy (and pleasantly surprised) to hear your responses so far. So now, on with the story, I hope you enjoy it. Sorry it's a bit short.

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><p><strong>6. A date<strong>

A week later, Sherlock realised John was getting ready to go out. When he came downstairs he seemed to have put some effort, as if... _as if he were going on a date!_

'Sherlock, I'm going out tonight. Don't wait up, I may be late.'

Once again John had this shifty nervous look about him. So he just grunted, feigning disinterest, but jumped from the sofa the second the door downstairs had closed. Lately he'd wear trousers and shirt at home at all times for occasions like these, in case he had to follow John. Luckily he wasn't taking a cab - which meant he was saving the fare to pay for a fancy dinner (_or paying for the cab when going home with he_r, he wrinkled his nose). It was always easy to follow and avoid detection when using the tube. Plus John wasn't paying attention (_he never did_). But he hadn't indicated he was seeing anyone lately, _so first date tonight_. He hoped.

He was shocked, yet not surprised to see John stepping into a restaurant as Jamie stood up to greet him. Jamie had a glint in his eyes the whole time, never taking them off of his companion. John seemed a bit uneasy, but trying his best to enjoy the evening.

...

John's breath caught in his throat. Jamie was wearing something very similar to what he had worn the night he had played at the Two Barrels. He had also put some product in his hair, allowing the top to gather in ringlets. It finally dawned on him, Jamie reminded him of Sherlock! Now he finally understood why he had shown "signs of interest" that night. Before he had even identified what he felt for Sherlock, he had unconsciously been drawn to Jamie, comfortable with him, seeking his company, admiring his skills and physical traits, offering to patch up his wounds. He wasn't sure what to think of that.

...

They were strolling and chatting. Now and then Jamie bumped his shoulder into John's.

'We can cut through here,' he said as he guided John's elbow. It was an arched passageway under the old building above, heavily shaded, which sent alarm bells ringing in Sherlock's head. Sure enough, soon Jamie stilled John where the shadows were thicker. He could see their dark silhouettes in profile. John's breathing had quickened.

'John,' he stepped in closer. 'Are you sure about this?'

'No. Not really.'

'Shh... Can I kiss you?'

John nodded and swallowed, tilting his head against the wall behind him, his chest raising and falling. Jamie stepped in closer still, placing his hands on John's waist. He leaned down and kissed him.

...

Jamie's lips felt fuller and softer than he had imagined. He had clearly taken care in shaving impossibly close, so there was no hint of a stubble - for which John was grateful. He immediately had a moment of immense clarity and understanding. He came to realise what had been missing in all his past relationships and what he had been searching for, all throughout his life. His relationship with danger, the reason why he had joined the Army, was something that extended to all the realms of his life, he understood it now. His past relationships had lacked that. They were safe, predictable, and once the initial spark subsided, he would find himself dissatisfied, incomplete, as if something were missing. He always attributed it to not having truly loved them and had sometimes pondered if love, real love, even existed. Yes, sometimes he had doubted it did, thinking maybe it was a mere invention or an illusion, created by literature, movies and music. But right at this very second he understood: in being kissed by a man or having _fallen in love_ (?) with Sherlock, the element of danger was there. He felt a surge within him, his body responded and allowed him to feel the kiss and all the sensations that accompanied it. His own breathing, his heart rate, the dizziness, the excitement - he hadn't felt this way in a long time. He also understood right then and there, there would be no problem on his part if this were Sherlock instead of Jamie, kissing him, holding him, pressing their bodies together. Jamie was a nice guy, but he was not the one he wanted.

He put his hands up on Jamie's arms, pushing them and making a protesting sound. Jamie pulled away, his face only inches away from John's. Both were breathing hard.

'Jamie, I'm sorry. I can't.'

'John, I can feel you. You're excited.'

John lowered his head a fraction, then shook it slightly. 'I know. But I can't. Please stop.'

'You want this. Let me.'

'No.'

Jamie was just starting to pull back when he was suddenly yanked violently away, crashing against the wall behind him.


	7. A real fit of jealousy

**7. A real fit of jealousy**

Seeing the silhouettes of both men, John's chest heaving in anticipation, Sherlock was seized by something unlike anything he had ever experienced before. It was as if his entire being was consumed by a fire that not only stirred his insides, but also ignited something else deep within him, in his core, his mind, his soul. It ripped through him, tearing him, and he finally understood the expression "broken heart". And he felt pain, in a way that went beyond the physical realm of his transport. For an infinite amount of time he knew, he had lost John. Lost the only person that mattered in his life. He could feel the despair, just as real as the pulse hammering in his temples. In that instant it became clear to him, John had been the only person that he had allowed inside his protected life. And now he was losing him. Someone like John would never appear in his life ever again and this was unbearable.

Then, a glimmer of hope. John protested and pushed Jamie away. He didn't want this and Jamie was not listening. _How dare he? _Before he could rationally think of what he was doing, the fire within him erupted. He tore Jamie away from John.

'He said no,' he said, as he stepped in between the two men, protectively shielding John. Even to his jealousy addled mind his own voice sounded low, dangerous and deranged.

All three remained stunned for a few heartbeats.

'Sherlock!'

John's voice brought him back to his senses. He turned and saw John stepping into the light. Instinctively his eyes raked down on him and he saw it: John had enjoyed the kiss. Shock, hurt, confusion. He couldn't handle this. He ran.

'Sherlock!' John's voice rang in the passageway.

...

For a few seconds John didn't know what to do. He wanted to run after Sherlock, but he also felt the need to check on Jamie. _And what if he's hurt?_ That thought made him step towards Jamie, who seemed winded from the impact. Jamie shook his head slightly and made an attempt to point in Sherlock's direction, wheezing. He placed a hand on his shoulder, _Are you sure? Are you okay?_ Jamie only tilted his head towards Sherlock, _Go_.

...

As he ran, Sherlock could not stop himself from replaying John stepping into the light in his mind. He noticed more now. More than anything it was John's eyes that haunted him. Despite him saying no, the desire had been there. It showed in his eyes, in his breathing, in his body. _Maybe once he gets used to the idea of being with a man, he'll say yes. To Jamie._ Had John been disgusted with the kiss, things would have stayed the same: he would continue living at 221B, helping with the cases, chasing criminals, being by his side. Nagging him to eat, complaining about experiments, making him tea, laughing at Sherlock's jokes. But he had enjoyed it so, eventually, all of that was bound to disappear.

Right then he wished he too, could disappear. Not caring had the advantage of not hurting, that's what had kept him sane and functioning all throughout his life. Now, the prospect of losing the one person in the world he _did_ care about was nothing short of chaos, disastrous, painful. How could he continue as he had prior to meeting John? He could not imagine solving cases and being as happy and satisfied without him by his side. Cases would never be as fun as they had after John had come into his life.

He realised he was not even capable of controlling himself anymore. What kind of violent reaction was that? To tear Jamie away from John and throw him against the wall? Yet he felt he had been close to doing more, if it weren't for John. _John_. And the image reappeared in his mind.

Frustrated, he growled and, trying to erase that image from his eyes, slammed himself against a wooden fence as if trying to bring it down, causing a considerable racket. That made him stop running. Still high on adrenaline, he pounded it with his fists too. Now his shoulder and hands hurt, distracting him a bit from the other pain he felt. Panting, he became aware of how hard he had been running. He doubled over with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

...

'Sherlock?'

John's voice was quiet, soothing. Sherlock jerked his head and saw him approaching cautiously, as if he were a wild animal. He couldn't fault him for it.

'Are you all right?'

He couldn't find a proper response, so he kept on panting. _No, not all right._ John was breathing hard too. _He ran after me. Why?_

'I wanted to make sure you were okay. You hit the fence really hard. Is your shoulder all right?'

'Why are you here?'

'Sherlock, let's go home and then we can talk.'

'Don't want to,' he looked away. _Every time I look at you I see that look in your eyes, the response in your body to his kiss._

'Sherlock, please. Come with me. Here.' With every sentence John had come in closer and closer, and now he touched his elbow. 'Let's get you home.'

At that touch, despite himself, Sherlock felt as if his _feelings_ were sound played at the loudest volume, only to be turned down at his merest touch. There was finally silence inside his head, the chaos subsided, _everything will be fine_, that touch told him. And unquestioningly, as absurd it would've sounded to him at any other time, right then, he believed it. He straightened up and, in a daze, allowed John to steer him. He didn't know how long it took, or what route the cabbie chose, but sometime later he found himself standing in the sitting room of their flat.


	8. Why is this so difficult?

A/Note: This chapter turned out so short that I won't keep you waiting. Enjoy!

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><p><strong>8. Why is this so difficult?<strong>

John took off his jacket, tossed it into a chair, then approached Sherlock.

'Let me see your hands,' he tried to raise them, but Sherlock pulled them away, startled at the touch. John sighed. 'Right. Maybe we should sit down?' He gestured towards the two chairs by the fireplace. Sherlock moved towards it, but John went into the kitchen. He had intended to make tea, but changed his mind halfway through. No, this would require something stronger.

When he returned, he handed Sherlock a tumbler, then sat across him, taking a sip.

But now he didn't know where to start. _Why is this so difficult?_ He opened his mouth a couple of times, only to discard the words that came to him. Sherlock watched, but for once he didn't want to read him and speak the words John was having trouble with. He refused to help him figure out his attraction for another man. He looked into his glass and sipped, trying to concentrate on the burning trail of the whisky inside him. He only looked up when John called him.

'Sherlock? I'm... I'm sorry you had to see that. I- tried going out with Jamie on a date tonight. Well, you already know that. I wasn't expecting him kissing me right then and there.'

Sherlock returned his gaze to his tumbler, he really didn't want to hear this. 'Do you have to give me the blow by blow? Give it time and you'll get used to the idea of being with a man. That's what you want, that much is very obvious,' he looked at him, then pointedly glanced down at John's crotch and back. _I saw it._ He stared back at his drink.

John was embarrassed, his face was burning, but he continued. 'But in that very instant I realised a whole lot of things.' He leaned forward on his chair and Sherlock's eyes focused back on him. 'I've been talking to Jamie over the past few weeks, trying to figure things out. He suggested we try going out and see how I'd feel about it. I agreed because-,' he sank back into the chair. 'I don't know. I guess you were right, I did feel a bit attracted to him.'

'When he kissed me... I understood that kissing a man gave me the sense of danger that had been lacking in my past relationships. It makes sense, really, when you take into account the life we have. I was astonished with my physical reaction to the kiss.'

Sherlock couldn't stand this. He stood up and meant to go to his room, but John grabbed his wrist and held him there.

'Sherlock... the reason why I stopped him was because he wasn't you. I hit a very low during our last case. That's when I realised what I felt for you. Sometimes I thought you might feel the same for me, but I feared it was just wishful thinking of my part. So I tried to move on. With Jamie.' He released the wrist. 'But what you did tonight...' He stood up. 'Your reaction to Jamie, the run, hitting that fence, it's more than friendship to you, isn't it?'

Sherlock was a bit stunned. Was John saying...?

'It is to me, Sherlock.'

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><p>ANote: Well... Sorry, I lied. I did keep you waiting after all... :) We're almost there, I promise.


	9. At last

A/Note: Just a quick note. This chapter below didn't exist at first, the story jumped from chapters 8 to 10 in earlier versions. But given the reaction I got with my last story, I feared you'd either burn my avatar's effigy in anger or, worse, never read my stories ever again if I didn't write this. As I'm all for keeping beaches pristine, and keep you interested in reading them, here's Chapter 9. For those of you who expressed your disappointment in the past - I heard you - this is for you. Enjoy. :)

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><p><strong>9. At last<strong>

Sherlock stared, dumbfounded and speechless. John smiled at this, _that was something, Sherlock speechless!_

'C'mere,' he said.

Sherlock still stared, unsure of what that meant.

'C'mere,' he repeated, gently. Sherlock finally seemed to understand it. He approached tentatively, still uncertain of what was required of him, and John nodded. Once he was within reach, John moved his hand towards Sherlock's nape and pulled his face down.

It was clumsy, they crashed their lips and teeth, both trying to do something, but not at the same time. John held Sherlock's face with both hands, pulling him away a bit. For a fraction of a second, Sherlock was alarmed; he did such a poor job of it, John was rejecting him.

'Let me...' John whispered.

He closed his eyes, and, holding Sherlock's face still, approached again for a slow kiss, savouring the moment, savouring those lips he had craved for so long. Yes, he realised it now, he had craved this. Kissing Sherlock felt like nothing else he had ever experienced before. For the first time in his life, he loved this person whose lips he was tasting. His entire being felt the rush of adrenaline; he felt his heart thudding in his chest, his own breathing quickening and he was sweaty all the sudden. The sensuality of those lips on his allowing him, accepting him, reacting to him, made his stomach drop at the intensity of it. He finally _felt_ what had been missing in all his past relationships.

_I love you._

In the past, Sherlock didn't think much of kissing. It was something that only on occasion he felt it was worth it. And even in those times, he mostly tolerated it when a partner did it to him. But this was different.

When John took the lead, Sherlock allowed for his expertise on the matter, to just feel. John's lips were experienced so they captured and tasted his luxuriously, as if he were a ripe fruit whose juices were so precious he didn't want to waste a single drop. They were wet, just as sensual as he had imagined and kept coming back for more. This was new to him, and he started to feel an overwhelming array of physical sensations. His brain silenced and he felt lightheaded. There was heat burning throughout his entire body, all his muscles relaxed, his knees felt weak. Both his breathing and his heart rate accelerated considerably. His sweaty hands flew to John's arms to ground himself, to hold on to _something_, so he wouldn't fall.

John responded by moving his left hand down and around his waist, pulling him so their bodies connected, his right hand going back to the nape and raking through his hair. Sherlock moaned, wrapping his arms around the solid body in front of him.

John brought his tongue in between Sherlock's lips and swept quickly inside his mouth. Had his eyes been open, Sherlock would have been blinking repeatedly in astonishment. Tongue was usually something that made him pull away, a bit disgusted. He had never imagined it could cause such a pleasurable sensation in a kiss. It had never been like this. He instantly felt his desire rising in him, the wetness of John's tongue calling for a responding wetness in him. He was burning.

John broke the kiss, feeling the response in Sherlock.

Seeing his face now, his emotions so unguarded and exposed for the first time, was enough for John to understand. They were together at last. Even if Sherlock himself didn't understand his emotions, they were there and they were his.

'I love you, Sherlock.'


	10. The danger

**10. The danger**

Two days later, Sherlock was looking into his microscope when John arrived home from surgery. He felt a satisfying kiss on his nape followed by a 'Hello, how was your day?' He smiled and replied, 'Very productive. I reviewed the past couple of days and realised something... very interesting.'

'Oh? And what was it?'

Sherlock turned away from his work and looked at John, amusement showing on his face. 'That night, while I was running, I kept seeing you and your face as you had stepped into the light. At that time that had convinced me you desired what Jamie had to offer.'

John flushed a bit, uncertain of where this was going. Sherlock stood up, the barely contained smile still playing on his lips. 'Only now I realise what your reaction meant. It was a reaction to _me_.' He stepped in closer, the annoying smug smirk teasing him. 'Your face, your eyes, your body, they were all a reaction to me.' He wrapped his finger around John's belt loop and pulled. 'More specifically, you reacted to my display of violence for _you_. You liked the danger you saw in me.' John swallowed, kept his head low and looked up, his forehead crinkling. Sherlock chuckled, wrapping his arms around John's waist. 'So, my brave war hero, the strong soldier, the hardened doctor, enjoyed being the damsel in distress for a change, having your "honour" defended by me, seeing me fighting for you.'

'Shut up, Sherlock,' said a delightfully crimson John.

Sherlock's laughter bubbled in his throat through his closed lips. He bent down to whisper in John's ear, in the tone he now knew was a sure way to elicit the most delicious reactions from him. 'I'm sure we can find ways to use this knowledge to our... advantage.'

J+S

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><p>ANotes: Sorry, no smut (ostensibly the site doesn't allow it...). But for those of you who were wondering about what happened to Jamie, he was all right. He and John remained good friends, which made Sherlock very jealous from time to time. You can imagine (oh, I know you can) what such jealousy led to on such occasions (not that John was complaining). Then one day, Jamie met the love of his life, a blond professional cyclist from Switzerland. They fell madly in love and he moved to Zurich, which left Sherlock very pleased and smug indeed.

Hope you liked both kissing scenes, I was pretty happy with the way they turned out.

Thank you for reading, following, reviewing and favoriting this little story of mine. Hope you enjoyed it as much as I did writing it.


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